


Such a Shame

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, F/M, Gen, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4954942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley knows someone will miss his girlfriend- it's just not him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such a Shame

It’s not raining. Overcast, but that’s Chicago for you. It’s not snowing, either- though enough’s leftover from last night you could call it “dusted” if you were particularly inclined. The shining white stretches to wrought iron fences on all sides, uninterrupted but plaques not yet sun-bleached, and a small wake, all in black. No umbrellas though, because, again: not raining.

Lilith always loved funerals- loved wearing white to them, just to appall. It was a gorgeous contrast to Crowley’s wardrobe: monochromatic, save the ties. There are a few hiccoughs in the grayscale of the whole scene- silver trimming on a white casket, ivy on the mausoleum, one dumbass in navy blue.

Her sister says some lovely things about her (all bullshit), and a pastor steps forward, and Crowley makes trying not to laugh look like trying not to cry.

When the procession comes to a close, sliding her into the wall and capping it with a lovely slab of granite, most of the attendees disperse. Crowley’s left with the creepy uncle with a smile legally not allowed near children. He takes a hissing inhale, and chides, “Such a shame she went so young...”

Crowley doesn’t respond. Gold leaf in the engraving; that’s classy.

“Poor thing,” he goes on, “so many enemies, we may never know the truth.” Arms crossed, he looks to Crowley. “You wouldn’t know anything about what happened, would you?”

He mutters, “Should have cremated the whore.”

Alastair cackles, and although his laugh is unique enough to be isolated, there’s a surprising number of chuckles in the mausoleum for it to join. He slips out, unnoticed.

It’s not raining.

It bloody hails.


End file.
